


Happy... Easter?

by xRabbitx



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Automechanic AU, Bromance to Romance, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Secret Santa, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-12 11:45:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12958503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xRabbitx/pseuds/xRabbitx
Summary: "It’s a cool, clear, and crisp spring morning when Mako realizes that he’s in love with Jamison Fawkes, a.k.a. Jamie, a.k.a. his boss. Mako honestly doesn’t remember exactly what happened, what the situation was, who was there, what they were doing, but he very distinctly remember the rush of panic that bubbled up inside him. Because seriously? His boss? The fast-talking, shit-talking idiot, who somehow manages to be incredibly dim-witted and quick-witted at the same time? The idiot who knows more about what makes an engine tick than any other man Mako has ever met? The idiot who gave Mako a chance when no one else wanted to? The idiot who not only provides Mako with a sense of companionship, but also makes sure Mako goes to bed full every night and has a roof over his head? The idiot who has the longest legs known to man and the most intricate patterns of freckles splayed over his shoulders? The idiot who can always make Mako laugh no matter how foul his mood is? Wait… this took a wrong turn somewhere."





	Happy... Easter?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Scrunchles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrunchles/gifts).



> Happy Christmas, SillyScrunchy! I hope you like this little thing :)

*

 

It’s a cool, clear, and crisp spring morning when Mako realizes that he’s in love with Jamison Fawkes, a.k.a. Jamie, a.k.a. his boss. Mako honestly doesn’t remember exactly what happened, what the situation was, who was there, what they were doing, but he very distinctly remember the rush of panic that bubbled up inside him. Because seriously? His boss? The fast-talking, shit-talking idiot, who somehow manages to be incredibly dim-witted and quick-witted at the same time? The idiot who knows more about what makes an engine tick than any other man Mako has ever met? The idiot who gave Mako a chance when no one else wanted to? The idiot who not only provides Mako with a sense of companionship, but also makes sure Mako goes to bed full every night and has a roof over his head? The idiot who has the longest legs known to man and the most intricate patterns of freckles splayed over his shoulders? The idiot who can always make Mako laugh no matter how foul his mood is? Wait… this took a wrong turn somewhere.

          Mako had spent a good two weeks flipping out about it, because not only is it really inconvenient, it’s also embarrassing and stupid and inconvenient. And it can never be, because reasons. Jamie is just a kid (when you’re 48 like Mako is, anyone under the age of 35 is a kid), and he’s not interested in an old fart like Mako. Especially not an old, ex-con fart who has absolutely nothing to offer but a lot of grumpiness, dry elbows, and constant paint stains somewhere on his body and/or in his greying hair. Yeah, those two weeks had been pretty shitty, but at least Mako had emerged from them with a firm determination not to let this stupid fancy ruin anything. Jamie had given him a job when nobody else would, and if Mako confesses or does anything to let on how he’s feeling, he will probably find himself out of that job pretty fucking fast. Not that Jamie is prejudice—Jamie doesn’t seem to give two shits about who people fuck, what color they are, etc.—but you can’t have your only employee be in love with you. Shit gets awkward really fast when it’s just the two of you. Well, and the old German guy who comes in every now and then to do the accounting. He’s very nice, but Mako prefers to stay clear of him, because he’s also very loud, and Mako’s too old and grumpy for that kind of noise.

          Anyway, Mako’s plan of pretending everything is fine is actually going better than he had expected. Most people think Mako is like a closed book, that he never displays any kind of emotion, but it’s not true at all. They see his tā moko as a mask that hides his true face, but what they don’t realize is that Mako’s tā moko _is_ his true face, and it has nothing to do with hiding. Jamie isn’t like most people, though, which is exactly why Mako is so surprised at how great he’s doing at keeping his secret. Jamie can usually read Mako’s mood one second after Mako has come down from his tiny apartment over the garage. They haven’t even looked each other in the eye yet, and Jamie will go on about how nice it is to see Mako in such a good mood or how he should quit sulking, because it will only make him wrinkled. How he does it is a complete mystery, but he’s the only person Mako has ever met who can do it. But for some reason, Jamie hasn’t seen through him this time. It’s probably because the idea itself is so absurd that it wouldn’t even cross Jamie’s mind. Oh well…

          “Oi, Mako!” Jamie calls out behind Mako, which surprises Mako so much that he actually manages to drop the paint sample he was holding. The can clatters against the concrete floor and splatters it in bright orange paint. Mako must have been very deep in thought, because Jamie usually can’t sneak up on anyone thanks to the heavy, dull thud his prosthetic foot makes against the concrete floor.

          “Oops! Sorry, mate, didn’t mean to startle you,” Jamie snorts and rushes over to help Mako. Mako just waves him away.

          “Didn’t startle me,” he grunts and sighs at the mess on the floor. It’s already covered in pain stains anyway, so it’s not a huge catastrophe. “What d’you want, boss?” He looks at Jamie, who’s grinning apolitically at him.

          “Right, I hereby invite you to the Junker Garage’s annual Easter party!” Jamie says rather dramatically and shoves a yellow envelope into Mako’s paint-splattered hands. There’s a clumsy drawing of a chicken in an egg shell on it.

          “The what?” Mako stares at Jamie, not entirely sure he actually heard what he said.

          “The Junker Garage’s annual Easter party!” Jamie repeats, and the tips of his ears turn a little pink the way they always do when he’s embarrassed or frustrated. “It’s your invitation, dummy.”

          Mako has never been invited to anything by letter in his entire life, and especially not a hand-delivered letter. He’s pretty pleased that his dark skin is mostly hiding his blush.

          “Well, open it!” Jamie urges.

          Mako rips the envelope open and pulls out a card with the very Eastery motif of a piglet surrounded by a host of fluffy, yellow chickens. Inside the card it just says:

 

_Easter! Party!_

_It’ll be egg-celent!_

 

          It’s obvious that Jamie wrote the card himself, because there are smudges from engine grease everywhere.

          “Wow,” Mako deadpans and looks up at Jamie who eagerly watching his face for the reaction. “You come up with that pun yourself, boss?”

          “Ah, piss off, it’s a great pun!” Jamie huffs and shoves at Mako’s shoulder.

          “You’re right, boss, it’s a great pun,” Mako hums, directing his gaze back to the card. He reads over the invitation a few times, trying to imprint Jamie’s useless handwriting on his mind so he will never forget it. Jamie never really got a hang of writing with his left hand. He’s learned all the other stuff, but writing never really came back to him. Mako doubts that his handwriting was super great to begin with anyway. Mako had tried helping him, but Jamie had been way more interested in building up muscle in his new dominant hand so he could get back to fixing cars again.

          “How can it be an annual party when we’ve never thrown one before?” Mako asks Jamie whose smile falters a bit.

          “What do you mean, we’ve never had one before?” he argues. “We had one just last year!”

          “That wasn’t a party,” Mako grunts. “That was just you and me getting pissed on leftover peppermint schnapps from Christmas.”

          “That’s completely irrelevant,” Jamie huffs, shaking his head. “I’m the boss here, and I say it’s an annual party.”

          “Okay, boss,” Mako says, and he can’t help a small, amused smile. “So who else is coming?”

          “Erm, who?” Jamie scratches through his patchy, blond hair. Mako has no idea if the patchiness is from early balding, some kind of strange side effect from the accident that claimed Jamie’s right arm and leg, or something entirely different. He’s never asked.

          “There’s going to be other people, right?”

          “Oh, uh, no! It’s a staff party.”

          “But then it’s just gonna be you and me.”

          “Look, I just want to throw an Easter party for the staff, alright? Stop ruining it with your ice cold logic!”

          “Sorry, boss.”

          “You’re damn right,” Jamie says and looks very pleased with him. “How’s the truck coming?”

          Mako has spent most of this week working on a truck for one of those pop-up restaurants that’s gotten so popular over the last couple of years. It’s for an organic, vegan hotdog shop, and they have asked Mako to paint a giant vegan hotdog with sunglasses on the side of the truck they’re going to be serving from. Mako had felt horribly old and awful when the owners had come in the past Monday, because neither of them had been a day over 23, but they were both sporting magnificent beards, way more magnificent than Mako can ever hope to grow (stupid Polynesian genes!). He had felt a bit uncomfortable around them until one of them that he had gotten the idea of the vegan hotdogs after he had adopted a teacup pig named Rosie and just couldn’t make himself eat another bite of meat. He had shown Mako pictures of Rosie on his phone, and Mako had tried to pretend that he wasn’t slowly melting into a puddle of goo. He couldn’t not have said yes to the job after that, and he has even secretly added another motif to the whole thing; a small Rosie in a punk tutu making a peace sign. He’s pretty proud of it to be honest.

          “It’s coming,” Mako replies. “Should be done in a day or two.”

          “Brilliant, because I figured I could ask them to provide some food to our party,” Jamie says, taking a step back to take in the side of the truck. “I don’t know anything about cooking meatless food.”

          “You don’t know anything about cooking,” Mako grunts, and he earns himself another shove to the shoulder, which he secretly doesn’t mind at all. Jamie’s flesh hand is always warm, and it feels nice. Mako is usually always a bit cold, but Jamie is always warm, which is only natural since his metabolism must be that of a humming bird. Mako has never seen anyone eat as much as Jamie eats, nor as constantly, but the kid seems to never gain a pound. Mako would perhaps find it amusing if Jamie weren’t actually plagued by it. He has told Mako stories of when he was younger, and his doctor forced him on a high calorie diet to make him gain weight, and it included drinking two full cups of heavy cream every morning. Just the thought of it makes Mako gag. Jamie has also told Mako about how he was teased as a kid for being too skinny. Mako was teased for being too fat. They’re a nice couple. Except they’re not a couple, and Mako really, really needs to stop ever thinking shit like that ever again, because it’s not healthy, and it won’t help him get rid of this stupid crush (it’s actually way more serious than a silly crush, but Mako doesn’t like to admit that to himself).

          “Why I put up with you is a mystery,” Jamie snorts, but he doesn’t really protest, because they both know that Jamie can’t boil an egg without burning the water.

          “Must be my natural charm,” Mako grunts, sending Jamie into a fit of laughter so intensive that it progresses straight into a coughing fit.

          “You’re alright, Mako, my lad,” Jamie hiccups and wipes his eyes with his greasy fingers, leaving black streaks over his cheeks. “I’ll be in the pit if you need me.”

          Mako watches as Jamie hobbles over to the other side of the workshop and descends into the work pit under a pastel pink 1959 Chevy Impala some bearded Latino guy in a beanie brought in a couple of days ago. Jamie had been very excited, because he so rarely gets to work on vintage cars, and he and the guy had spent almost an hour talking about vintage cars. Although Mako can appreciate the beauty of these old cars, he doesn’t really give a shit. In fact, he doesn’t honestly give a shit about cars in general. He just likes to paint on them. Mako’s real passion is motorcycles, and he has an old one in the corner of the workshop that’s just waiting for him to give it a good shine-up and a fresh coat of paint.

          It’s with intricate designs and patterns for the bike swirling around in his head that Mako continues his work on the hotdog truck. By the time he finally takes a step back several hours later and admires his handiwork, only the shading and the final coat of clear, protective paint are left to finish. He’ll do that tomorrow. Mako wipes his hands off in the paint-stained rag he always carries with him and decides that it’s time to break for the day. Jamie is still in the pit under the pink car, humming loudly and off-key to himself as he tinkers. Mako has no idea what he’s doing down there, and influenced by a sudden curiosity, Mako shuffles over there and leans down a bit. He doesn’t see Jamie down there.

          “What’re you doing there, boss?” he asks, not really sure if it’s okay for him to go down into the pit with Jamie. Jamie’s head pops out; his face is streaked with more black grease stains, and his hair is sticking out in all directions. His smile stretches from ear to ear.

          “Ah, just fiddling about a bit,” he says happily and edges out from under the car so he can straighten up. A symphony of cracks pops as he straightens and stretches his spine. Mako is pretty sure that Jamie’s slumped posture strictly comes from spending hours each day hunched over in the pit.

          “Mostly she just needs a good clean,” Jamie says and wipes his flesh hand over his forehead. “She’s been in storage for ages.”

          “Hm,” Mako hums and scratches his chin. He should leave. Why is he still standing here? Why isn’t he leaving? He has nothing else to say, so why is he still—oh fuck, Jamie is noticing. He’s looking at Mako strangely, and Mako is very quietly losing it.

          “Mako, you alright, mate?” Jamie asks, one bushy eyebrow arching a bit.

          “Yeah, uh, yeah, I’m fine,” Mako says and fakes a yawn. “Yeah, just tired. See you tomorrow, boss.”

          “Right, see you, mate,” Jamie calls after him as Mako as he turns and leaves. Well, ‘leaves’ is perhaps a bit strongly, because he never actually leaves the building. No, he just opens a door to a staircase that takes him up to the second floor and the apartment over the garage. Jamie has graciously let Mako rent it almost for free, and in it he has everything he needs; a bathroom, a bedroom/living room, and a tea kitchen. All are tiny, but big enough for one man with simple needs. Jamie used to live here, but when the garage started making money, Jamie bought the house next door and moved in there instead. Mako has never actually been to Jamie’s house, but it looks nice. It’s surprisingly clean and well-kept, which is really is a surprise considering the fact that Jamie is never not covered in engine grease. The house is painted creamy yellow with an actual white picket fence, and the small front yard contains a couple of wild-looking but healthy rose bushes that carry the most fragrant and beautiful roses Mako has ever seen. On the east side of the house, there’s a huge, old fig tree that always get all bent out of shape from all the heavy figs it bears once a year. Jamie never uses them for anything, but Mako likes to make fig jam and caramelized figs from them. As long as he shares with Jamie, Jamie is happy to let Mako pick all the figs he wants.

          As nice as Jamie’s house looks from the front, however, it’s a fucking scrap yard in the back. Mako can see it from his bedroom/living room window. It’s full of old cars and trucks that Jamie has picked apart over the years, and it’s a good thing Jamie doesn’t have any kids, because it’s a complete death trap out there with sharp, rusty edges everywhere.

          Mako has sometimes wondered why Jamie hasn’t yet found someone to settle down with and have a couple of kids (being gay doesn’t seem to stop people from spawning kids these days), but Jamie doesn’t seem to be interested in settling down at all. Not that he’s fucking around either—not that Mako knows of, anyway, and Mako is pretty sure he would know given the fact that they’re neighbors. In the five years Mako has worked for Jamie, he has only seen Jamie come home with someone maybe three times, and whenever he’s asked Jamie about the person afterwards, Jamie has just shrugged and grinned.

          No, Jamie certainly isn’t rushing to settle down, and Mako has given up on that idea a long time ago. Two men settling down together hadn’t really been an option when Mako was young, and now he’s too old and too grumpy to want to have to deal with someone—well, unless it was just the right someone. Someone who Mako already knew wouldn’t get on his nerves too bad, or who knew when to just shut up and leave him alone, just like Jamie does, and—nope! No, not going down that route again. Abort! Abort!

          The next couple of days in the garage pass by like most other days. Mako is painting and Jamie is tinkering, oiling, drilling, and replacing. The man in the beanie comes by to pick up the pink Chevy, and apparently he’s so pleased that he tips generously enough to make Jamie’s face turn the same color as the car. The two hotdog guys come by to pick up their truck, too, and they’re extremely pleased with the secret addition of Rosie on the van. They don’t have the money to tip as generously as  the beanie man, but when Jamie mentions that he’d like them to cater the garages’ Easter party, the guys immediately agree to do it, but only if they can do it for free. Mako tries to tell them that it’s far too much, but Jamie shuts him up (the kid does like his free stuff), and he arranges for the hotdog guys to come by the next day, which is party day, with the food. Mako tries asking Jamie is there’s anything he should prepare or set up, but Jamie just tells him not to worry about anything.

          “Okay, uh, so when is this party?” Mako asks when Jamie for the third time that day tells him not to prepare anything. “And where?”

          “Oh, right, I should probably figure that out,” Jamie hums and taps his chin with a black-greased finger.

          “What? You haven’t even planned where we’re gonna be?” Mako huffs. “How can you tell me not to worry about it when you don’t even have that figured out a day before the party?”

          “Oh, piss off, I’ve been busy!” Jamie argues.

          “With what? The food’s already settled, and that’s literally the only other thing there is to plan,” Mako goes on. “What else is there? Seating arrangements? It’s just gonna be you and me!”

          “Shut your gob, mate, there’s plenty of other stuff,” Jamie bites back.

          “Like what?” Mako crosses his arms.

          “You’ll see soon enough, you big dolt, now go do your job!” Jamie’s ears have turned a little pink, and Mako stares defiantly at him for a second, then grunts and turns away.

          “Okay, boss,” he mutters as he goes back to the car he’s painting.

          When Mako wakes up the next morning, there’s an envelope shoved under his door. It looks like a remake of the invitation Mako got a few days ago, but this one lists a time and place:

 

_Today_

_My house_

_6 PM_

 

          Mako is actually a little excited to finally get inside Jamie’s house, and he spends most of his morning, while drinking coffee and eating breakfast, trying to imagine what the inside of Jamie’s house looks like. Will it be messy or clean, or maybe something in between? Will it be one specific style or maybe some kind of mix of all styles? Mako’s own apartment is pretty minimalistic styled with only the bare necessities—of course, that has less to do with a choice of style and a more to do with the fact that Mako really doesn’t give a shit about interior decoration. He seriously doubts Jamie gives a shit either, but then again, you never know, and it honestly wouldn’t have been the first time Jamie has surprised him with liking or being good at something Mako had never expected. His roses for example. Mako thought he’d gone crazy the first time he had passed Jamie’s house on a Sunday afternoon and seen Jamie sitting there next to one of the rose bushes, carefully and neatly trimming it and inspecting every flower for greenflies. One time he had even bought a box of ladybugs to combat other bug pests. Mako swears he’s even once heard Jamie talk to the roses, telling them how pretty they look. So, honestly? If Mako walks into Jamie’s house and realizes that it’s filled with crochet doilies and flowery porcelain, he wouldn’t even be that surprised. Jamison Fawkes is a strange fellow.

          Jamison Fawkes is also a no-show all morning. He’s usually already working when Mako comes down in the morning, already head first into an engine of some sort, but not this morning. He’s nowhere to be seen, which is very unusual for him. Mako is tempted to ring Jamie and ask him if he’s okay, but then again, maybe Jamie doesn’t want to get disturbed. He would have let Mako know if it were important that he know. So Mako just starts his work as he always does, checking all his colors and brushes to see if he needs to order some new stuff home. Then he checks his email inbox for new commissions. There are none today, so Mako starts working on the gig he got the other day; a minivan painted with patterns and icons inspired by the works of the Papunya Tula group. It’s a hell of a gig, because all the patterns are made up of dots, so it’s going to take Mako forever to cover the minivan, but that just means more money for him, so he doesn’t mind.

          What Mako does mind, however, is that Jamie still hasn’t shown at lunchtime. In the years Mako has worked for Jamie, Jamie has never taken a sick day, and Mako doesn’t ever remember seeing him being sick either. Hungover? Yes. But legitimately sick? Never. So Mako decides that he doesn’t care if Jamie doesn’t want to be disturbed, because he’s honestly a bit worried at this point. He could of course just go next door and knock, but Mako doesn’t feel comfortable doing that, so he calls instead. The phone rings a few times, and just when Mako thinks it’s going to voicemail, the phone is picked up.

          “What?”

          “Boss?”

          “Yeah, mate, what is it?”

          “Uh, just wanted to make sure you’re not dead.”

          “Dead? What’re you on about?”

          “It’s lunchtime, and you haven’t been in or left a message or anything.”

          “Oh. Fuck, I’m sorry, mate. Kind of lost track of time.”

          “Lost track? What are you doing?”

          “Just prepping for the party.”

          “You know it’s just you and me, right? You really don’t have to make a big deal out—”

          “A party’s a party, mate. I don’t give a toss how many people are coming. It’s got to be good.”

          “Alright, alright. So you’re not coming in today?”

          “Nah, no time.”

          “Right. See you later, I guess.”

          “Deffo!”

          Mako doesn’t really know what to think when he hangs up the phone and scratches through his hair. What the hell can Jamie be preparing that will take him the entire day? There’s nothing to do but to wait and see, though, so Mako just huffs and turns back to his work. Well, he has lunch first, and then he goes back to work.

          It’s almost 5:30 when Mako looks up again, and to be honest, he’s been so focused on his work that he has all but forgotten about the party that’s supposed to take place in half an hour. He did off-handedly say hi to the two hotdog guys who had parked outside Jamie’s house and brought some things inside, but it hardly registered with him. He has dots dancing before his eyes, and it’s probably a good idea to break for the day.

          “Done for the day, boss,” Mako says out into the room before he remembers that Jamie isn’t there. He also remembers that he’s supposed to be at the stupid party in half an hour. Shit, he doesn’t really want to go. He’s tired, he’s got a headache, and there’s still dots flicking into being every time he blinks his eyes. But there’s nothing to do about it now; Jamie has been preparing all day, and it’s much too late for Mako to cancel. It would be incredibly rude, and Jamie would probably get really disappointed. Also, if Mako is 100% honest with himself, the idea of being all alone and drinking with Jamie is a little exciting. Terrifying, but exciting. Even if nothing will ever happen, it’s still nice to dream a little, isn’t it?

          No, Mako tells himself as he stands under the spray in his shower a few minutes later. He shouldn’t be thinking about these things. He’s supposed to get over this stupid infatuation, because it’s stupid, idiotic, moronic, and also stupid. Only stupid people follow their stupid crushes, and Mako really doesn’t want to be stupid. No, Mako wants to be clever, which is why he decides that it’s a good idea to jerk off before he goes over to the party at Jamie’s house. That way he’ll be nice and relaxed, and sex or romance won’t be squirming around in his head. It seems like a clever plan, it really does, but it obviously backfires horribly when Mako is absolutely and utterly incapable of conjuring any images inside his head but images and fantasies of Jamie. His body really, really wants him to climax with Jamie’s face in his head, but Mako refuses. If it’s gonna be like that, he’s just not going to climax at all! It would probably have worked great if his body had been a misbehaving 3-year-old, but as it is, Mako instead ends up being late, frustrated, and still pretty horny by the time he stands outside Jamie’s front door. His skin is prickling all over, and he feels like the few hairs he has on his body are all standing on end. He doesn’t want to ring the bell, he wants to go hide in his bed, but he’s a grown man, an old man even, and you don’t cancel when you’re already late. It’s just rude.

          It takes Mako a few moments to realize that it’s Jamie and not a perfect stranger who has answered the door. The thing is, Mako is pretty sure he has never seen Jamie scrubbed clean(-ish) ever before, and it looks—absurd, to be perfectly honest. His hair isn’t matted or spiked by black engine grease or smoking slightly from a welding spark that has landed in Jamie’s nest of hair. No, it’s—it’s normal? Well, normal might be overdoing it a bit. It’s dirty blond, and very _puffy_ , almost frizzy, but not curly at all. It just sort of stands out in all directions, but as far as Mako can tell, there’s not spray or mousse or product of any kind in it. That’s apparently just how Jamie’s natural hair is; just as strange as the rest of him. Jamie’s face is the cleanest Mako has ever seen it, and it’s clear that Jamie has been scrubbing himself good and hard, because his cheeks are still pink and a bit raw-looking. Mako almost breathes a sigh of relief when he spots a black grease smudge on Jamie’s right ear. At least some things don’t change, and thank fuck for that.

          “You’re late, mate,” Jamie says, and he gives Mako enough time to panic slightly and open his mouth to try and explain when he snorts and shakes his head. “Nah, it’s fine, mate, I’m only taking the piss. Come in”

          Mako grumbles something about Jamie being a cockhead, but he does step inside. Before Mako can take his shoes off or even comment on anything, Jamie interrupts him by insisting on giving him the grand tour through the entire house. Mako doesn’t protest, because he’s honestly too curious not to come along. The most impressive and interesting thing about Jamie’s house is that it doesn’t look like he has used a single new thing in the house. Not a single thing. Everything from the rugs on the wooden floors to the flower pots in the window, to the sofa, to the kitchen cabinets have been lugged home from recycling depots, secondhand shops, flea markets, and everything in between. Even the paint on the wall, Jamie tells him proudly, is paint scraps he’s collected from paint shops and painters he knows about town. On top of all the secondhand stuff comes a whole host of knickknacks, thingamabobs, and whatchamacallits that fill every drawer, every shelf, and every corner of the house. It all looks like it would be pure torture to clean, and Mako would have expected it all to be covered with dust, but there’s not a single grain to be found anywhere. Is this what Jamie has been doing all day? All the different furniture, all the different styles—most of them no younger than the early 80s—make Jamie’s home look strangely mismatched, totally chaotic, and completely perfect for Jamie. Mako instantly feels at home here, just like he knew and feared he would.

          “So, food, yeah? It’s not a party without food!” Jamie says when they’re standing in the last room on the tour; Jamie’s bedroom. The bed is big, far too big for just one person, and it’s mainly made up of old, wooden pallets and some home-welded iron bars. It looks very sturdy, and Mako instantly and very inappropriately wants to ask if the frame can hold up during a night of proper fucking, but he doesn’t. Instead his imagination just litters the inside of his skull with images of how he and Jamie might go about such a night of proper fucking.

          “Yeah, food,” Mako says, secret happy that his dark skin hides the blush that must be spreading on his cheeks right now. He follows Jamie downstairs in silence as he tries to banish the very colorful imaginations from his brain, and he’s so busy doing that that he doesn’t realize that Jamie is taking him to a room that he hasn’t seen on the tour. They go through the kitchen and turn a corner, and suddenly Mako finds himself in an actual winter garden. It sticks out from the house in a semicircle (it’s on a side of the house that Mako apparently can’t see from his apartment window, because he’s pretty sure he would have remembered it if he had. The winter garden is made up by a white-painted, wooden skeleton, and in between the beams, there are installed thick panes of glass. Even the roof of the garden is made of glass and is shaped like a dome. It looks homemade but solid. Most of the wooden beams and some of the windows are covered in vines, and there’s even a few huge pots along the round walls with giant citrus trees in them. Mako has always knows that Jamie likes growing stuff, but he had never actually imagined that Jamie would have a orangery hidden away. Most of the citrus trees are flowering, and even though the flowers are mostly closed for the night, they smell amazing. From the glass ceiling and the glass walls are strings of what looks like really old fairy lights. Some of them work, some don’t, some flicker a bit.

          It would all have looked very romantic if it weren’t for the makeshift table in the middle made up entirely of old, plastic beer crates. On top of them, a big dish of vegan hotdogs is balancing as well as two six-packs of cheap beer. It’s pretty obvious that while Jamie is good at a lot of things, he’s not very good at setting a festive table.

          “Happy Easter!” Jamie announces behind Mako, then hobbles over to the table to wrench two beers out of the plastic packaging and open them. He hands one to Mako. “Cheers, mate!”

          “Uh, cheers,” Mako says, feeling pretty damn perplexed by the whole thing. He sips his beer. It’s awful. “Not very Easter-y, though, is it?”

          “What d’you mean?” Jamie blinks at him, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. “There’s lights and everything.” His eyes dart all over the room and to a spot over Mako’s head.

          “Well, the lights don’t really give off any Easter vibes, you know?” Mako says as he notices Jamie’s gaze over his head. He twists his head to look up over his head. There’s a green sprig with white berries hanging about a foot over his head. How the hell did Jamie get a hold of that in the middle of spring? “And the mistletoe is definitely not Easter. It’s all Christmas.”

          “Christmas?!” Jamie looks mortified for a moment, but then his face changes to one of dawning realization. “Oooh, so that’s probably why I had so much trouble finding that bleeding toe plant.”

          “Mistletoe,” Mako grunts.

          “Right, whatever,” Jamie huffs and taps his chin thoughtfully. “I was wondering why the florist kept looking at me like I was insane.”

          “Yeah, no shit,” Mako says, and he can’t help but snort a bit at the thought. “Some crazy bloke coming in and asking for Christmas shit in the middle of spring.”

          “Yeah,” Jamie says, then sighs and shrugs. “S’pose it’s not gonna work then.”

          “Work? What is?”

          “The bloody mistletoe thing.”

          “What do you mean?”

          “You’re supposed to kiss if you’re standing under it, yeah? But if it only works at Christmas…”

          “W-wait, what? Kiss? What the hell are you talking about?”

          “Well, this was supposed to be my grand night of seducing, but I mucked it all up, didn’t I? Gonna have to wait for Christmas, I suppose.”

          Mako is feeling lightheaded at this point, and he has to actually pinch himself a bit to convince his brain that he hasn’t just walked into a very strange dream.

          “You’re—what?”

          Jamie snorts and rolls his eyes as if this is all very amusing.

          “Alright, confession time,” he says and sips his beer. “So, obviously I hired you, because you’re very good at what you do, okay? But you’re also very nice to look at—really fucking nice, actually—so maybe that helped a bit, too, you know? But I figured there’s no way a gorgeous slice of man like yourself would even look twice at a half-limbed cunt like me, yeah, so I forget about it. Or, well, I try to, okay, because, face it, mate, you’re not easy to just forget about. Actually, I can’t forget about you at all. I mean, I’m pretty sure I’m not just after your bacon, if you follow. I really like you, mate. But, you know, I don’t think it’s ever gonna happen, and I don’t want you to think I’m a creeper or anything, so I just keep it to myself. But then, what, about a year ago you start acting a bit different. You know, the way you look at me if just different, and I start noticing it, okay? It’s like—you don’t even know it yet, but you’re being all nice to me, and you keep checking me out. I’ve done my fair share of cruising, and I know what those looks mean. But I don’t do anything, because I’m a good boss, not the kind who’s fondling his employees. Then a month ago or so you suddenly start acting all strange, don’t you? I can tell you’re trying to be sneaky about it, but it’s pretty fucking obvious that you just realized what you’re doing, and you’re trying not to do it anymore. But you can’t, see? I want me, because—well, honestly, I don’t know what the hell you’d want with me, but I know you, mate, and I know those looks. So I think to myself that maybe it’s time, you know? I should probably just come out and say that I like this old cunt and see what he says. And I plan all this to make it nicer, but then I mess up the holidays and make a royal ass of myself, don’t I? You probably think I’m just a stupid tosser, don’t you? Mako?”

          During this speech, Mako has just been staring at Jamie in disbelief. He can hardly process all this information that’s just been dumped at him, and especially not the fact that Jamie has apparently liked him ever since he hired him.

          “Hello?” Jamie waves a hand in front of Mako’s face, and he looks a bit worried. “Please don’t tell me I’ve been reading all this wrong, and what you really want is a tight, little tart with tits up to her ears. I mean, I can do the tight, but that’s about it, mate.”

          “You’re telling me,” Mako suddenly as he snaps back to the present, and he pinches the bridge of his nose, “that here I thought I was being extremely good at hiding how I really felt, and you’ve just known about it all the fucking time?”

          “Well—well, yeah,” Jamie says like it’s the most natural thing in the universe. “You’re really not that hard to read.”

          “Everyone always tells me my face is like a mask,” Mako argues. “How come you’ve read me like I’m an open picture book then?”

          “How am I supposed to know?!” Jamie huffs and spills a bit of beer down the front of his shirt as he makes a frustrated gesture. “It’s not like I’m trying, you know? I just—get you, I guess?”

          “Well, in that case, you’re the only person who’s ever gotten me!” Mako half-yells and makes an equally frustrated gesture.

          “That’s bloody sweet!”

          “Yes!”

          “Fine!”

          “Fine.”

          “Wait a tick,” Jamie says and scratches his chin. “What are we fighting about again?”

          “Oh, uh,” Mako replies, and immediately loses the urge to yell. “I don’t know.”

          “Hrm,” Jamie grunts and downs the rest of his beer before he nods at the mistletoe over Mako’s head. “So I s’pose it’s lost its magic then?”

          “I don’t know about that.”

          “No?”

          “No.”

          Jamie’s doesn’t really look like a good kisser, but he’s an amazing kisser, and it honestly doesn’t take many minutes before Mako’s knees are going weak and he’s feeling all hot and bothered. Later that same evening, Mako furthermore learns that Jamie knows how to use his mouth in all kinds of interesting and pleasurable ways. Mako also learns that, yes, the frame of Jamie’s bed does indeed hold up during a night of proper fucking.

 

*


End file.
